My room of requirement and Mr. Shel Silverstein

Josie over at Sleep is for the Weak has started her own writing workshop. I love these, because it makes me write about things I probably wouldn't otherwise, or write them with a different twist.

Prompt #3:

If I had a room just for me in my house where time would stop upon entering it, well, that could be dangerous. I imagine it would be like the room of requirement from Harry Potter.

I would have a library filled with all the books that I've ever meant to read, and it would come up with suggestions for me based on what I like. It wouldn't come with a stuffy librarian telling me that I couldn't eat or make noise, but instead the librarian would just know what I wanted to read and make me snacks.


I would have a dance studio. A big dance studio. Not just a studio, but also it would have dance classes for me to choose from. If I wanted to take my favorite class, well, I'd just have to think 'Intermediate modern, please.' and the studio would fill with other students, the teacher, and live music. Or, maybe, 'afro modern' and Roxanne and students would be awaiting me.

There of course there would be the nap room. Comfy bed with just the right amount of pillows, and cats who cuddle but do not demand attention.

A room full of yarn and knitting needles, so that I would always have just the right amount of supplies to make whatever project I felt like. And I could just go in there and feel all the yarn, if you're a knitter I think you'll understand.


I could get lost for days in my room or requirement. Maybe it's a good thing I don't really have one.

Prompt #5:

How Not to Have to Dry the Dishes
by Shel Silverstein

If you have to dry the dishes
(Such an awful, boring chore)
If you have to dry the dishes
('Stead of going to the store)
If you have to dry the dishes
And you drop one on the floor--
Maybe they won't let you
Dry the dishes anymore.

I know this prompt was supposed to be making up my own cleaning haiku, but I feel that Mr. Silverstein perfectly describes how I feel about doing the dishes in general. (and yes, I know that this is not a haiku.)

How I met my best friend

We had to do introductions. We had to stand up in front of the other seventy people in the room and introduce ourselves. This may not sound like much, but I was nervous. All I had to do was to stand up say ‘My name is J., I live in Uptown, and I work at an internet business and I am a dancer.’

I couldn’t sit still, crossing and uncrossing my legs, moving my hands around. I kept repeating to myself over and over what I was going to say, as if I would suddenly get amnesia and not know who I was.

‘My name is J., I live in Uptown, and I work at an internet business and I am a dancer.’

If the leader had stopped the exercise before I had had my turn and asked me to name the last five people who had introduced themselves I wouldn’t have been able to.

‘My name is J., I live in Uptown, and I work at an internet business and I am a dancer.’

The whole room was nervous, I could see it on everyone’s faces. No one wanted to be the one to stand up in front of everyone else and get it wrong. No one wanted to be the one the leader stopped and dissected. No one wanted to be the one to have to repeat themselves. We all knew it was going to happen.

‘My name is J…’

My nervousness grew when my row was told to get in line on the side of the stage. Inching closer and closer to the stage as one by one the people in my row went, my heart was fluttering. I felt crazy, it wasn’t like I could forget, and they even had a chalk board in the back with prompts on it. I know who I am.

‘My name is…’

And then it was my turn. I stood in the center of the stage and gave my introduction. I looked at everyone; I spoke loud enough and stated who I was. And that was it. I was done, I left the stage and sat back down in my chair. I was done. Nothing happened, I didn’t forget who I was or make up some crazy story, or forget to look at the group of people I was introducing myself to. I had stood there and told them those few simple details of my life and then easily went back to my seat.

Afterward I was able to concentrate on who was introducing themselves and really hear names and look at faces, take in who I was going to be spending the next few days with. I heard what people did for their job or for life and where they chose to live. It was a completely different room for me. The atmosphere was light and easy. I could enjoy everyone else and what they were telling me.

‘My name is Mr. Not Hideous. I’m a massage therapist, I rub people for a living. I live in my friends’ basement in Brooklyn Park and I rent a five year old.’ He was funny. The room laughed, he was funny. And he was the one who got spanked by the leader. She dissected him, made him see how he was using humor as a way to distance himself from others. She wasn’t going to let him get away with that kind of crap, she made him do it again.

I thought thank god that wasn’t me. Poor guy, but I’m glad it wasn’t me.

this post was inspired by prompt #1 of this weeks writers workshop.

Who stole our mirrors? Was it Frank?

Ever since I was about five years old I have been learning Swedish. The summer after 4th grade I was able to go to Sjolunden, the Swedish language village of the Concordia Language Villages.

My first year as a four-week villager, or credit, I was 14. That was the summer when I first learned about body image. Now 14 seems a little old to just learn about body image, did I live under a rock or in a cave before this summer? Well, no, not exactly. I grew up in a blissfully unaware state, we didn't watch tv or listen to the radio much, instead we played outside with the cats; sometimes naked, sometimes not, depending on our age or if there was a puddle out in the yard.

But at Sjolunden I was living in a cabin with 12 other 14-16 year old girls. Girls who wore make-up, put a lot of thought into what they wore every day, and spent hours sometimes in front of the mirrors in the bathroom. I have to admit that even the hours in front of the mirrors were something I was unaware of. I don't think I ever really noticed what they were doing, or how long they were in front of the mirrors, or what time they got up in the mornings to fit all those 'neccessary' things into their morning ritual.

This isn't to say that I am calling those camp friends vain, or that I was above all that. I was just unaware, totally 100% unaware.

Unaware until the day I found out that the credit boys had rated the two cabins of credit girls. Yes, rated, based on what exactly I don't remember now, but I'm sure it was hotness or looks. I was kind of excited when I found out that they had rated us, just because I was unaware of the idea of body image didn't mean I didn't care how people saw me. I remember coming in in one of the last five places. I was, to say the least, disappointed, but I didn't give my position more than a passing thought. That was until the counselors talked to us about it and made the credit boys write an apology letter to all the credit girls.

Unaware until one day our mirrors turned up missing. It was hard to be unaware after that, the other girls were so incredibly upset about it. I think I just thought of it as camp drama, a mystery to solve, something else to make camp more exciting. Everyone seemed to have a theory, it was the credit boys cabin, the maintenance crew took them, one of the other villages came and stole them. At the time I didn't realize the gravity of the situation, or why Frank, the head maintenance man, would want our mirrors.

It didn't take long for some of the girls to pull out compact mirrors, or the kind you buy for school lockers and put them up in the bathroom. It was so important to some of them.

I was unaware until after I got home and one of the counselors, Stina, sent a letter to us all. She said that she had to come clean, she took the mirrors out of our cabin. She said that she couldn't stand watching us stand in front of the mirrors for hours while putting on make-up, doing our hair, or just pinching at our stomachs. She wanted us to realize that we are beautiful, all of us, that we didn't need the mirrors to tell us that.

I was floored. I knew about the make-up and hair, but I had never seen a single girl in front of the mirror pinching, complaining, wishing she were smaller. And that was when it hit me, body image is a big deal to some people, that it can be debillitating.

I think it was the next school year in Science class that we weighed ourselves during class. I was somewhere in the 90s. One of my friends made a big deal about me not being over 100 pounds. I think that was the first time that I had weighed myself that wasn't a school physical. I remember thinking that we were about the same height and looked to weigh the same, she couldn't weigh too much more. I now know that it doesn't have to be much more for people to be upset about it.

Sjolunden and Science shaped my idea of body image. Since that year I have been more aware of body image. It hasn't changed how I eat or look at myself, but made me aware that other people look at me differently. I rarely voice my opinion when people talk about weight, I don't want anyone to be offended by the 'skinny b*tch.'

I would love to gain weight, I need about ten more pounds to be healthy. I am not really unhealthy, but I turn into a cranky, crabby, hard-to-live-with monster if I don't have enough to eat RIGHT NOW. My sisters have this same problem too, we can't function on low blood sugar, we snap at everyone no matter what, and can't even think to find a snack for ourselves if we let it go too far. Seriously, being skinny is not glorious. I wish that the rest of the American world would see that.

This post was prompted by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.